


Running With Scissors

by slightlyjillian



Series: Numbers Alternates [8]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Second Chances, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, complicated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mafia AU. One possible coda for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/56203">Numbers</a>. Given their circumstances, Nichol had been careful about not going back to Trowa. Then a chance encounter puts a new spin on Nichol's burden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running With Scissors

**Author's Note:**

> This has spoilers for [Numbers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/56203). Haha, if anyone's actually worried about that. *grin* _Running With Scissors_ might not stand-alone as well as I'd like since it's (indulgently sloppy) connected to that universe.

The assignment that Nichol received had been simple enough: confront the store-owner about extravagant skimming on the books. The Numbers had an allowance for ambitious underlings. And then there was just plain stupid.

"Couldn't be just a bit more clever in your record keeping?" Nichol groaned, rubbing his cheeks with both hands. He wanted to be sleeping. More than that, he wanted to be in his own bed.

He did not want to be on a stakeout with Alex and Mueller. In the backseat, the boys continued to play some hand-held game that let them fight each other virtually as well as physically. Mueller had Alex in a headlock and started punching the blond man's chest.

"That's right," muttered Nichol. "Get that all out of your system because we're not allowed to lay a finger on this guy."

Mueller held still long enough to ask, "Are you sure about that?"

"Zero's orders," Nichol said simply.

"And we're supposed to get a message across without violence?" Alex squirmed, his eyes wide from more than asphyxiation.

Twisting in the front car seat, Nichol leveled them both with one look. "Can you handle it?" He wasn't satisfied with the delay of their nods, but at least it meant they'd actually considered what he'd asked before answering.

"One of you kids watch the store," Nichol opened the door. "This is your job to screw up or manage. I'm getting a coffee."

He glanced both ways before crossing the empty street. Zero would take care of the camera surveillance, but Nichol didn't want it recording his untimely death due to a fatal vehicle verses pedestrian street accident. Stuffing his hands into his pocket, he shouldered open the brightly welcoming door to the small coffee shop.

The place was decorated in warm browns and tans with various stenciled coffee mugs and quotation on the wall. Nichol savored the rich smells of freshly ground beans, becoming more alert on the aroma alone. Which was exactly when he heard a long missed voice.

"Pick something, Midii."

 _Blast,_ Nichol turned and swallowed hard around the next breath that never seemed to come. Trowa Barton leaned against the counter no more than ten feet away in the narrow shop. He was with some nondescript yellow-haired woman and neither of them had noticed Nichol yet.

 _If Trowa sees you, we don't know what will happen to his mind,_ Zero had warned, a bitter piece of cautionary advice.

For years, red-haired Catherine had been the destructive, mental trigger subconsciously woven into a young Trowa fragile psyche. A close call with his sister and lucky reset left the man without a solid recollection of his only partner and eventual boyfriend. The unproven suspicion was that the trigger had transferred from Catherine to any interaction between Trowa and Nichol.

Zero had predicted how difficult it would be for Nichol to live an incomplete life, one without Three, which was why he was assigned to babysit the troublesome Alex and Mueller.

Nichol didn't want to leave it at that, but what could he do except comply with Zero on the hope some cure could be found. Not they'd ever been successful in finding one for Catherine.

Running into Trowa at a random coffee shop was a wretched twist to an already horrible day. He wanted to be in bed. He wanted to be sleeping… with Trowa.

 _Too late._ Nichol winced, holding a hand up to cover his face. That second of delay had been too long. He pivoted, went back toward the door and into the dark of predawn.

Nichol had both feet on the front sidewalk when he suddenly was turned in the grip of the man assigned the number Three. Trowa's hair had grown out longer, but fell somewhat to one side so he could still pin Nichol with a bewildered, determined stare.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Nichol did not tremble, he scoffed, "Got the wrong guy, pal. I don't know you."

"Tell me your name." Three let go with one hand. Then his fingers yanked down on Nichol's shirt long enough to see the jagged, raised scar along the man's neck. Trowa's brow knit with frustration. His eyes became unfocused.

 _Not good. What do I do?_ Nichol cast around for ideas and saw the surveillance car with the boys still inside. "Danil…" he said. "My name is Danil. Who are you?" He added the last with a snarl. Fervently his mind pleaded, _We're strangers. You don't know me. You don't remember me or this or us…_

"Dan…il," Trowa tried the word. It wasn't the name Three had used when Nichol was his. Danil worked for Zero.

"Are you going to let me go?" Nichol asked, getting somewhat frantic. He didn't want Trowa to be hurt. He owed Three his life many times over. So while Nichol really hated adjusting to a life without Trowa, that's exactly what Nichol had to do—so he did. He closed his eyes, trying not to notice how familiar those ungentle hands were on his arm and neck. Or the way Trowa smelled, _dammit_ , which hadn't changed. Not at all.

Then two hands were on his face and Nichol opened his eyes.

This person was not Three.

Trowa eventually dropped his arms, but Nichol couldn't undo his conditioned nature to obey this person. He hesitated when Trowa caught him with an unexpected, sheepish grin. "Danil, I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry."

 _Don't be sorry. Not_ you, Nichol stared. "Yeah, well…" _What can I say? He seems alright…_ Trowa acted like a regular young man. Not the psychopath with acrobatic intellect and a cruel edge who juggled loyalty between the Alliance, OZ and the FBI.

"Danil…" Trowa offered a handshake. "I'm Trowa… Bloom."

"Yeah, okay," Nichol played along, but Trowa had to notice the sweat in his palm. _He thinks I'm a civilian!_

Rubbing the back of his head, Trowa's eyes curled into a smile. "I'm glad to say you don't… remind me… of someone else." He laughed oddly and brief, still obviously confused by his own behavior.

 _He's being so kind,_ Nichol relaxed somewhat, but couldn't shake his reciprocal interest in Trowa's well-being. _How are you getting along without me?_ "Ah, okay. That's good then. So, is the bird treating you alright?" He couldn't stop the blush from warming his cheeks. Nichol couldn't shake the memories of intimate moments between them, or the stab of jealousy when the images were of Trowa and _someone else_.

"Who?" Trowa's eyes went bright for a moment and his lips lingered in the last shape which put a funny feeling in Nichol's stomach.

"The woman…"

"Her?" Amused eyebrows lifted farther to hide behind Trowa's forelock. He pointed at the closed coffee shop door. "She's… just someone I'm helping. No one." He urgently emphasized that, as if he subconsciously understood Nichol's real concern.

"So you don't… y'know. What am I saying?" Nichol pinched his nose. He needed to leave. He didn't want to be anywhere else. Three never acted so polite and ordinary. Nichol searched for some sliver of resolve. How could he get his feet to move away from this person? "I don't even know…" His foot slid to the side. _Keep going. You got lucky, but who knows when the trigger will pull?_

"You're more my type."

Nichol laughed, "What?" He managed a full step away, but Trowa matched it.

"I don't know why I just said that." Trowa might have gone slightly pale under his olive complexion. "Just, maybe stay for coffee? On me. That's what you came in for, right?"

"I was leaving," Nichol edged back. His foot awkwardly dropped off the curb. Now Trowa seemed even taller, glowing somewhat in the light of the streetlamps.

"I've never wanted someone to stay as much as I do right now." Trowa seemed to be talking to himself. "Danil, do you know me? It's almost like…"

"We were meant to be?" Nichol scoffed, then he impulsively pushed out his hand to keep Trowa back at arm's length. "I'm thinking you need…"

"No, that's not what I was going to say," Trowa interrupted, his tone colored with a slightly more familiar edge of irritation. "It's almost like _a fresh start_. I've got a very good intuition, so when this sort of thing happens--I'm going to chase it."

"Right." Nichol threw another glance toward the car. The last thing he needed was either Alex or Mueller making a scene. If he could get Trowa to stop. Or to go back inside. Or… Nichol used his leverage to pull Trowa around the corner and into the narrow space between shops. His heart panicked against his ribs, but something else urged him to try.

 _He would have understood._ Nichol reasoned. _He always took what he wanted with no regrets._ Putting his fingers along the base of Trowa's skull he tugged for the kiss he'd wanted ever since he saw Trowa frame the word _who?_

Trowa never liked having his back to the wall. One leg shoved between Nichol's and their positions were reversed with Trowa's lips curiously asking what he didn't have words for.

This Trowa, the one who sounded kinder and more everyday normal, still knew exactly what sort of relationship he wanted with _Danil_ \--as if the connection between the two men had never gone away. An unfamiliar hum of interest from Trowa vibrated against Nichol's chest. The younger man broke contact only far enough to narrow his eyes as if unable to see what he was looking for.

"How strange," Trowa chuckled, dipping his head to rest against Nichol's shoulder. "It's like I don't want to go back to who I was before this moment."

"Do you have to?" Nichol liked how Trowa's longer hair felt. Playing with the new length, he let it slide through his fingers.

"You were so quick to reject me. Now this," Trowa said, leaning against the wall and shoulder-to-shoulder.

Nichol expected to be attacked again. That's what would have happened before, but this Trowa only watched with the ideas of _more_ dancing behind his green eyes. Trowa said, "You must be as surprised as I am."

A car drove past spraying water from a puddle. Then the angry blare of car horns when things didn't move fast enough at a changed light. Nichol allowed himself a long examination of Trowa's features, committing to memory something he had never expected to have taken from him.

"I've got a job…" Nichol ventured.

"Me too," Trowa admitted. "We could call in sick."

"It's not that kind of job," Nichol laughed. His lungs strained under the pressure of every other urge his body kept indicating in Trowa's proximity.

"Not to mention," Trowa gestured at the wall. "This place is disgusting. We probably need a very intimate shower to decontaminate ourselves."

 _He's not the same,_ Nichol pushed away. He never should have kissed him. This was worse than before. Testing how far he could get with Trowa now seemed a futile game of Russian roulette. Then his hand was clutched in-between Trowa's.

"If not now, what about again? Later?" Trowa asked. The sincerity unraveled Nichol's resolve just as much as the overly possessive strategy of the Trowa who had loved Nichol before. "I want to figure you out." He must have noticed some warning in Nichol's expression, because Trowa amended his statement, "or just a date."

"Trowa B-Bloom, asking me on a date?" Nichol stared. Taking his hand back, he rubbed his fingers. "Only if you don't look for me." He didn't need Trowa finding out the truth. "I'll find you."

"Sure," Trowa smiled, sunnily. But the similar memory of another forced separation made Nichol want to throw up. He promised himself to be satisfied with that kiss. Not seizing his upset stomach took some doing as Nichol stumbled back to the surveillance vehicle.

"How'd it go?" Nichol asked gruffly as he sank into the driver's seat.

"We tried good-cop and bad-cop," Mueller admitted. "Verbal intimidation. Just like you suggested."

"And?" Nichol started the car and threw them directly into rush hour traffic.

"It worked," Alex crowed. Both boys set down their games long enough to put on seat-belts. Nichol frowned, but didn't relax his driving. If it made them nervous, then they all could be sick together.

"Hey boss, ease up a little," Alex looked green. "We did what you said."

"Didn't like the coffee?" Mueller moaned. "I'm gonna puke."

Nichol tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Coffee was too expensive."


End file.
